Domestic Fatigue
by MBallyntyne
Summary: Housework and cooking are a little more tiring than people think, especially when you're alone.
1. Chapter 1

Hey guys, sorry it's been a while. I found the outline for this recently and decided I'd finish it properly. It's amazing what you can do when your internet goes off. This is mostly fluff, I warn you now, and it's going to be in three or four parts. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

* * *

"Honestly, Alan, you need to be more careful!" Alan's eyes lowered in shame where he sat on the infirmary bed. He counted himself lucky that Virgil was tired and that Scott wasn't home yet or he'd be getting more of an earful than a mere 'be more careful'.

Gordon's ears pricked up from where he sat on the plastic chair next to Alan's bed.

"John's home," he warned Virgil. For all that Gordon could be a prankster at heart, Alan was his only younger brother and he took his responsibility to keep the youngest Tracy safe very seriously. He was therefore not very happy with Alan at the moment due to the fact that he had managed to fall off a ladder while putting up decorations because he hadn't put the safety on properly. However, neither of them had told Virgil the whole story, instead just leaving him to think that Alan had fallen and Ohana had found him and Gordon was annoyed. Virgil simply had too much on his mind to deal with Alan being careless as well.

"And Ohana's just got back too," scolded Virgil, ignoring Gordon for the time being. "Imagine giving her such a shock on her first day back!" He started packing away the ice-packs back into the freezer, tossing them onto the top shelf roughly. "You, lying on the ground holding your wrist with half a dozen balloons flying around the room." He slammed the door to the freezer with a bang.

"And then trying to cover it up! Really, Alan, today of all days." He leaned his head on the outside of the fridge and closed his eyes. He was exhausted and Alan mysteriously falling off a ladder didn't help.

"Okay. Right." Virgil pulled himself together slightly, turning back to his brothers. Gordon was glaring at Alan and hissing at him under his breath, low enough that Virgil couldn't hear him, and Alan was picking at the bandage, head down and face miserable. "I'm going to go and help John get his luggage up the stairs; God knows how much he's brought home this time. Alan, you're going to either stay here or go to bed, and don't make that face or tomorrow I'm going to tell Scott that one of the International Rescue operatives fell off a ladder because he didn't secure the safety properly," he finished with a finger prod to Alan's chest. "Gordon, you're with me." He strode out of the infirmary at a determined pace but his red-headed brother lagged behind.

"He knows. Don't try and wriggle your way out of this one, you deserve it," Gordon said lowly, leaning close to Alan's ear and patting the blonde's shoulder once making him jump, before following Virgil out the door.

* * *

"Hey, Johnny!" Gordon went for a tackle-hug because he knew just how much John hated being tackled. The flat smile on the blonde man's face entertained him enough to let go and he did so with a hearty slap to his older brother's back. "Good to see you!"

"Less than half an hour on the island and I'm already getting man-handled," grumbled John good-naturedly, "It's good to see you too, Fish."

"Ah, forget him, he's been waiting all day for you to arrive." Virgil stood, arms folded over his chest and grinning widely beside the silo's door to the house. "Good to see you, John. We thought you'd be earlier." He came forward for a hug, realising in frustration that he had to reach up a little.

"Plane was delayed, snow on the runway. Brains decided last minute that he'd like to stay another day so he's boarding at the hotel down the road from where we stayed."

"If you'd called, I could've come and picked you up," suggested Virgil, picking up two of John's bags and starting to walk in stride with his blonde brother back to the kitchen. Gordon walked behind, delighting in the simple knowledge of his family now at home having expanded, but more subdued than his usual enthusiasm.

"Or you could've just left the snow where it was and gotten home on time," laughed Gordon. It was not only the stars that John loved; any extreme weather appeared and he would be all over it. News reports, tiny plastic bags holding samples of soil or vegetation, and various charts had coated his bedroom walls when he had been younger. Now it simply cluttered up Five, a fact Alan made known rather loudly whenever he signed on to report back home while he was up there. It was a reminder of the earth John both loved and missed. Virgil thought it was nice. Alan thought it was irritating.

"Penny's British was probably making her twitchy, not being able to leave on time."

"John, love, please, just leave the snow be." Gordon put on a high British accent and talked to the ceiling of the corridor, not wanting to risk meeting John's eyes. Virgil grinned and joined in.

"There'll be snow next year just the same!"

"Your brothers are probably sitting up waiting for you–"

"Impatiently."

"Long-sufferingly."

"Bored."

"Tired."

"Hungry."

"Waiting, just waiting for you to stop making those snow angels and come home!" Both younger Tracy's fell about laughing while John just rolled his eyes.

"You know, Virge, I expected this sort of behaviour from Gordon and possibly Alan, but you? Really?"

"I'm filling in; he went to bed early," said Virgil breathlessly, shifting one bag to his shoulder. It was unexpectedly heavy and had been wearing lines into his hand. John looked alarmed.

"Alan? Going to bed early?"

"He bruised his wrist quite badly right before you came." Virgil shifted the bag again, wincing at the weight. He'd already made up his mind to tell neither John nor Scott exactly what had happened. They'd be freaked out enough with Alan's injury just by itself and when the youngest Tracy was in the infirmary earlier he seemed repentant enough. Hopefully enough to be more careful next time.

"Is he okay?"

"Yeah, he's–" Virgil stumbled, narrowly missing dropping one of the bags. Gordon lunged for it and caught it, lowering it gently to the floor. John grabbed Virgil's arm to steady him.

"Virge, you okay?" he asked, eyebrows raised and voice as light as ever. "You know you aren't supposed to drink, even if it is my birthday tomorrow."

"Ha ha," mumbled Virgil. "I'm fine, just tripped over my own two feet."

"And I thought I was the clumsy one," said Gordon, taking full custody of the bag. He swung it out of the way when Virgil tried to reach for it, hefting it onto his shoulder.

"No. Who knows what you might break if you trip again?" he refused. He paused for a second, the weight of the bag finally registering. "No wonder you tripped, Virge! Whata'ya got in here, Johnny? Dictionaries?"

They made their way to John's bedroom where, under John's eagle eye, they carefully lowered the bags to the bed, and then headed to the kitchen. Virgil collapsed onto a stool at the counter and put his head down on his arms. God, he was exhausted.

"What time is it anyway?" asked Gordon, heading for the pantry. The clock on the oven glowed in the dim lighting, and the clock in the dining room next door ticked away the night.

"After one," answered John, taking pity on the prankster. He made a noise of surprise. "I didn't think I'd get in this late. What time's Scott getting in?"

"Dad left to get him after dinner so I'd say late tonight. Or rather, early this morning." Gordon grinned, biscuit taking up the majority of space in his mouth, and teased, "As long as he doesn't encounter any snow on the runway."

John drew himself up to his full height, which still remained less than an inch above Gordon's. "You doubt your older brother?"

"Welp, I'm off to bed," announced Gordon, dancing out of John's reach and rocketing up the stairs three at a time. "Good to have you back, Johnny!"

John rolled his eyes and turned back to Virgil, whose eyes had closed, highlighting the purple-blue shadows under his eyes. He frowned, his gaze never leaving Virgil's rather absent face.

"You know," he said suddenly, "it almost looks like you ought to be the one going to bed early. You look exhausted, Virge. What've you been doing?"

"Oh, this and that," said Virgil. One hand reached up to rub an eye and a yawn broke out against his will. "Nothing much. Nothing like you 'n' Scott 'n' Brains."

"Virgil…"

"I'm just going to wait up for Scott then I'll go to bed, I promise." Virgil rolled his eyes. "Seriously, you and Scott are scarily alike sometimes!"

"Me and the Motherhen? Never!" John grinned and stood. "Well, if you're not going, I am. That plane ride tired me out and I've got to be up bright and early for my birthday."

Virgil knew full-well that John wasn't tired from the plane at all. He had the twitchy look about him that meant he was worried about what Gordon would do to his bedroom if he didn't go up now.

"Good night, John." Virgil waited patiently at the counter until the noises stopped in John's room before he crept up and put all two-hundred and thirteen streamers up as well as balloons. Might as well finish the job since Alan had almost broken a bone for it.


	2. Chapter 2

And here is part 2. Thank you for the reviews! Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Still don't own anything.

* * *

Noise woke the middle Tracy son and he sat upright in shock. The couch blanket fell from his shoulders and he glanced down at it in surprise. When had someone put that on him? Last he'd known he's just finished putting up all the streamers, stuck a party hat on John's dresser, and come downstairs to grab a drink. He'd used the left over streamers and balloons to decorate the dining room and part of the kitchen, pushing the boxes that had stored them into the corner of the room. He'd eventually put his head down on the counter for a minute to rest, not wanting to head up all those stairs again, and everyone else had been fast asleep in bed. Everyone?

He looked around hastily, searching the room for some evidence that–

"Hey sleeping beauty." There was an audible click as Virgil's head spun around.

"Hey yourself," he replied croakily, wincing as he massaged his neck, but a grin spread across his face. He leapt off of the stool and went over to hug his eldest brother tightly. The eldest Tracy son stood from where he was leaned back on his chair reading something on his phone, and swept his younger brunette brother up in a bear hug. He looked tanned and alive and so unbearably full of energy for seven o'clock in the morning. Virgil on the other hand felt as though someone had sucked out all of his energy, and his throat was starting to bother him.

"It's good to have you back," said Virgil whole-heartedly, pulling back from the hug so he could look Scott in the face.

"Good to be back, Virge," grinned Scott, ruffling his hair. Virgil tried to stroke it back down but sleeping at the counter had done neither his neck nor his hair any favours in the first place. Scott just laughed. "And here's the birthday boy! Nice hat, space-face."

John was slowly scuffing his way through the door outfitted in a dressing gown, slippers and a purple party hat. He blinked at the colour explosion in the dining room and then frowned darkly at Scott.

"Call me that again and I'm giving Gordon the codes to your hanger," he growled. "I've been awake since you trumped through the silo door like a herd of elephants and couldn't get back to sleep. Do you have any idea what time I got in last night?" John didn't enjoy being woken any more than Virgil did and his punishments for the offenders were usually a lot craftier and much longer-lasting than simply tossing someone in the pool.

"So when'd you get in anyway? I was a little bit too tired to actually look at the clock," asked John, slouching his way to drop into one of the chairs at the table. Scott bounded over to the chair next to him.

"Oh-six-hundred," he replied with a cheerful grin, "And I'm still more awake than you lot!" He was. Energy radiated off of him like sunshine and almost as bright.

"Scott, you're home!" Scott swung around, tipping his seat backwards to see the youngest Tracy come clambering down the stairs, face lit up in delight at seeing Scott at the table.

"Hey Sprout! What happened to your arm?" He shot eyebrow-raised glances at Virgil, the unofficial Tracy medic, who had taken the seat on the other side of John. Alan Tracy shrugged, starting to pick at the edge of the table slightly, a sure sign he'd been doing something careless and wasn't about to admit it to his oldest brother.

Scott turned to Virgil but it was Gordon who answered.

"He fell off a ladder and Ohana found him before he could cover it up." The red-headed Tracy had followed Alan down the stairs to hear the question. He'd already had to explain it to Virgil and John the night before; best to get it over with quickly.

"And yet the two of you managed to decorate not only my whole room with streamers and balloons, but also the dining room," glared John at the two of them. "I was only asleep for a couple of hours. How the hell did you manage it? And quietly too."

Alan wriggled his fingers of his free arm.

"I've got a bruised arm, John, I couldn't possibly stick up two-hundred and thirteen streamers in your room in only a couple of hours." He grinned innocently. "But it's good to see you, Johnny!" An enthusiastic one-armed hug was given while Gordon seemed to finally notice that it was Scott sitting at the table, yelling "Scotty!" and attempting to pull the same manoeuvre he'd tried with John the night before. Scott just laughed and caught him in a bear hug, tightening it when the red-head squirmed and started regretting his actions.

The dining room was filled with the excited noise of all the younger Tracy men comparing news. John's hat sliding sideways as he laughed and Scott's chair leaning back in a casual display of comfort. Virgil grinned. It was good to have all of his brothers under one roof again after so long, for all that it was a little loud.

A noise from the kitchen sounded, low enough not to be heard by any but Virgil himself who was sitting the closest. Virgil ducked under some of the low-lying streamers and ventured into the kitchen, pushing up his sleeves. It was a territory that he had become well familiar with over the past few weeks.

"Virgil?" Ohana stood in the pantry holding half a dozen ingredients ranging from flour to blocks of chocolate.

"Hey, Ohana," greeted Virgil, "would you like some help?" Ohana looked a little stunned but to her credit the only indication of it on her face was widened eyes. The Tracy boys didn't help with cooking, not because they didn't want to, but because it was her job. She was also fairly certain that Scott couldn't make anything more than Air Force rations.

"No, hon," she refused, "You go and sit with your brothers."

"It's fine, Ohana," said Virgil amused, "let me do this. You take a break, you only got home a couple of days ago. Just sit tight and watch my prowess in the kitchen!" Virgil didn't mind cooking; in fact he enjoyed it. His creative nature allowed him to both make and decorate various dishes, and he found it relaxing, much as he did playing the piano or painting. Also the levels of dishes sitting in the sink were reminiscent of Virgil's baking spree yesterday for the birthday and he was reluctant to let Ohana deal with the remaining mess. Ohana, seeing that Virgil wouldn't be persuaded otherwise, finally agreed.

"Well, would you be able to help me make up some biscuits while the others are still chatting so that we can get them in the oven before lunch?" she asked, still uncertain as to just what point this prowess amounted to and resolving to keep an eye on the middle Tracy. "And I'll get started on a slice, and some salads, and something substantial – no more of this chocolate mixture."

John and Scott weren't the only ones who'd been away over the past few weeks. Ohana had taken some time off for personal reasons, visiting a sister Virgil thought, and had only gotten back the day before yesterday. She'd arrived in a hurried rush, frantic at the thought that she'd nearly missed John's birthday, and had started to plan out the birthday menu, only to find that Virgil had already cooked and decorated most of it. Virgil and Gordon had taken over the cooking while she'd been away – Gordon showing a frankly unsurprising knack for whipping up various quick dishes – but Virgil had shouldered most of the duty, Gordon being needed elsewhere by their father. Alan frequently called down from Five, teasingly checking to see if they'd starved to death yet. It took an annoyed reply from Virgil to remind the youngest Tracy that the brunette had actually spend a period of time living by himself while studying and could cook 'better than Alan could, thank you very much'.

"It isn't like I've done anything recently," Virgil added, carefully extracting the ingredients from Ohana's arms. "I mean, Scott's been away flying with his old Air Force buddies, and John and Brains have been at that conference. Gordon's been busy with dad, and Alan's been up on Five in between almost breaking bones."

"Hon, Alan's always been rather clumsy, it's not going to go away just because he's joined you lot in the field," said Ohana, patting his hand as he started measuring out the flour for the biscuits. "He'll be fine. And from what I've heard you've been working enough for three people, what with all the cooking and cleaning. I might not even be needed any more if they've got you around."

"No one could replace you, Ohana," smiled Virgil, a little bashful at being praised for his mastery of housework. Ohana just laughed.

They mixed for a while in comfortable silence, Virgil starting with the biscuits and Ohana with the slice. The sounds of the other Tracy's came wafting in from the dining room: breakfast bowls clattering, Scott's laughter, John's dry comments, Alan's excitability, and the protesting squeals of whatever furniture Gordon had found to climb on, a bad routine that had started ever since he'd been on the rescue with the volcano. The noise was a little overwhelming after weeks of near silence, interspersed with coordinating rescues and calling Alan.

"It's nice to have them all back," said Ohana quietly. "This place is far too quiet without them."

"Yeah," said Virgil just as softly, "it's real nice."

The biscuits were quickly rolled into tiny balls and put onto a tray in the oven, and Virgil went to take a shower while they baked. When he came back downstairs the other Tracy's had decided that a swim would work well before lunch, and Virgil was shooed out of the kitchen to join them.

"Hey, Virge, jump in already!" Gordon's arm swung in a wave, spraying Virgil's bare feet before he could back away.

"Nah, I think I'm going to sit out here for a bit." He took the pool chair next to Alan, who was skulking around the edges of the pool. It was nice out in the sun, warm and refreshing, and Virgil lay back in his seat, one arm over his eyes, slowly letting his muscles loosen. His throat was still bothering him a little, almost like an itch that he couldn't scratch, but he ignored it and closed his eyes. He wasn't sick. He couldn't get sick on John's birthday.

A splash and yell cut off jolted Virgil upright. Alan swam up to the surface of the pool, spitting out water and scowling.

"Clumsy, aren't we," grinned Gordon slyly, treading water. Alan splashed him with his good arm and Gordon swum over to push him under the water. Virgil lay back again, convinced now that nobody was hurt or dying, just his brothers being their boisterous selves.

He closed his eyes, letting the sun and the fresh air do their work...

"Virge!" Virgil looked up into Alan's confused face, hovering above his own and dripping water on his forehead.

"Huh?" He pushed Alan away absently and reached up a hand to shade his eyes from the sun. "What's wrong?"

"I asked if you wanted to come play volleyball." Virgil blinked in surprise.

"Oh."

It took a minute of Alan standing there to process the fact that he hadn't actually given an answer. A volleyball flew passed Alan's head and landed in the bushes off to the side. Virgil closed his eyes again.

"What's wrong with you?" asked Alan slightly suspiciously. There was a splash from the pool and the sound of water droplets hitting pavement.

"He can probably hear Gordon's stomach growling; it's a disturbing enough sound for anyone."

Virgil opened his eyes to see that Alan wasn't the only one to notice his attention lax. John grinned lazily at his younger brother from where he floated on an inflatable bed in the pool, and took a sip of his drink. His eyes were concerned but no sign of it showed in his voice or face. The eldest Tracy son was bobbing by the side of the pool, arms resting on the concrete rim and the smear of breakfast at the corner of his mouth not yet washed off by the water. There were slight wrinkles at the bridge of his nose; he was worried. The second youngest Tracy's visibly ignored all of them, continuing to flip about in the water, but Virgil could tell that he was listening in.

It occurred to him that maybe it hadn't been the first time Alan had called him when he'd finally realised that the younger Tracy had been speaking.

Gordon's stomach chose that moment to give a very loud grumble and he prodded it thoughtfully.

"I think its telling me it's time for lunch," he mused. His head shot up. "And I'm listening to it. Ohana and Virgil's cooking, here I come!" There was a magnificent spray of water as he leapt out of the pool, pausing for a second to eye Virgil over, then racing off to the side. He grabbed the volleyball and pounded it with his hand towards where John was lying on the bed, scooting away when the force of it managed to dunk the blonde under some. He laughed, drenched, and skipped his way inside.

Virgil frowned as Alan went to join his prankster brother, side-stepping John's half-hearted revenge, equally as eager to get inside.

"Do they seem a little … enthusiastic to you?" It appeared that Virgil wasn't the only one who'd noticed. Scott frowned worriedly.

"I don't know what you're talking about." John stared up at the sky and closed his eyes. "My mere presence makes them ecstatic; it's surprising you haven't noticed 'til now."

"Very funny, space-face," muttered Scott, spluttering as John reached over and scooped a handful of water straight into his brother's face.

Both men climbed out of the pool, Scott stopping next to Virgil's pool-chair to offer him a hand up. Virgil gratefully accepted; he'd been sitting in the sun longer than he'd thought and his muscles had relaxed to the point of lethargy. Once up, he stumbled a little, bracing himself against the back of the wooden pool-chair and Scott's arm. Scott, if anything, looked mildly surprised.

"You okay?"

Virgil nodded and replied a little breathlessly, "I'm good, just a little too relaxed. It's been a long few weeks."

John grinned at both of them, though the worry for Virgil was hidden behind his teeth; he'd seen Virgil stumble and he knew first-hand how had it was to get him to do that. In fact, he'd tripped last night as well, but that might have been the bags. Probably was the bags.

"Should've kicked Alan back in the pool and come played volleyball with us; would've cooled you off."

"Next time," promised Virgil.

The older two showered quickly while Virgil started setting the table for a late lunch.

Food weighed down the table, the wood creaking miserably in protest. Bowls and plates of everything John had ever said that he'd even mildly enjoyed were set out in a magnificent feast in a celebration of Tracy Island's most star-struck resident.

The Tracy boys sat down and dug in, only to be joined by their father just after starting.

"Hi boys, sorry I'm late," he greeted as he sat down, business suit still stuck in its ironed patterns on his body and hair sticking up a little as if hands had been run through it in frustration. "There was an incident in the parking lot at work; Anderson managed to get his keys locked in his car, the car that happened to be blocking the incoming traffic into the lot. I couldn't get to the runway until it was all cleared up." He smoothed his tie absently.

"So," he asked with a twinkle in his eye, "how is the birthday boy?"

* * *

"It's not my fault I don't understand the physics behind it."

"Oh, you understand the physics perfectly, I've seen you dive before."

"Okay, so maybe I didn't–" Gordon's mouth closed with a snap, and John turned to look. Ohana was walking out of the kitchen with an astounding cake. It had a simple round base with another on a second tier, and small chocolate stars were spread in a smattering over the two layers. Candles decorated the second tier.

"Wow, Ohana, that looks incredible!"

Ohana set the cake down on the table in front of the older blonde son, beaming just a little at Gordon Tracy's stunned look. It wasn't often she could render the red-head speechless, but this victory wasn't actually hers to partake in.

"This isn't mine, Virgil made this the other day." They all turned to Virgil in surprise, grinning a little as the brunette rolled his eyes at their shock.

"I can cook, you know," he groaned exasperated. Scott pulled him into a standing position, clapping a hand to his shoulder as the rest of the Tracy's applauded, Gordon's shrill wolf-whistling causing their father to reach over and slap his leg. Virgil shifted uncomfortably, and went to sit back down.

One second everything was fine, the lights a little bright and the Tracy boys all with enormous grins on their faces, the next his hand was stinging and Scott was grabbing his shoulders again.

Virgil's eyes widened in horror at the hand-print stuck in the centre of the cake, candles askew and chocolate coating his burnt palm.

"John, I am so sorry," he said wide-eyed. "I tripped, I didn't see – I'm so sorry–" He stuttered out apologies, his honey-brown eyes flicking from the squashed cake to the blond's shocked face.

"Uh, that's okay," said John after a pause. He sounded stunned. Everyone else looked like they'd been slapped, sitting in silence staring at him. Alan even had his mouth gaping a little.

Scott spun Virgil around, pushing him by the shoulders into the kitchen. He turned on the tap with a violent flick of his fingers, and shoved Virgil's burnt hand under the streaming water, keeping his fingers laced around the younger Tracy's wrist. It was a well-known fact that Virgil Tracy didn't do well with people man-handling him, particularly when he was hurt, and Scott wanted to ensure that he didn't escape.

"What's wrong with you?" he demanded lowly. Virgil carefully fixated his eyes on the running water, knowing that Scott would smell a rat as soon as they made eye contact. He was good that way. He swallowed, but it didn't help his throat any.

"I just tripped, Scott–"

"No, you don't 'just trip'. Virgil Tracy doesn't _trip_. That looked like you blacked out for a second. What's going on, huh?"

Ohana came in from the walk-in pantry with a second cake, exactly the same as the first.

"Here, hon, good thing Virgil made another one just in case," she said sweetly to John, carefully carrying the cake to the table and setting it down. "Though I don't think he thought he'd be the reason we'd need it after all the hard work he put into making the first one." She eyed Gordon speculatively, and red spread across his nose and ears, though his face showed no embarrassment. John laughed.

"Yeah, I remember," he said gleefully. "You skidded into dad's legs when you were two or three and he dropped it all over the kitchen floor!"

"You're memory's obviously faulty," said Gordon calmly. "That was Alan. And he was _eight_." This time it was Alan scowling and all of the other Tracy sons laughing, though Scott kept his hand wrapped tightly around Virgil's wrist in case the other Tracy made a run for it. "And then there was Scott and the crutches," continued Gordon with a quick look to his left, "You remember that, right, Scotty? All clumsy like a new-born foal."

"I'm … gonna go and find something to clean this up," muttered Virgil when it looked like the cake-smashing was going to turn into a contest, and disappeared out the door. Scott, who'd let go of his wrist slightly and suddenly found his younger brother leaving, followed his almost strategic retreat with a vigilant eye.

"Did Virgil look pale to you?" Scott asked John in an undertone as the blond cut out a piece of the new cake for him. They'd decided to forgo singing until Virgil came back but cut the cake anyway. Gordon was being too impatient to wait for his slice and had started jumping around energetically, and Ohana began to get a little worried that a second cake would become ruined because of a stumble. John smirked, balancing the chocolate delight on the end of a knife.

"He always looks pale. Too much time at his piano. Not as pale as me though," he said with a grin, admiring his snow white arms as he tipped the slice onto a plate. Scott frowned, his one-track mind refusing to be diverted.

"No, more pale than usual." John sighed.

"Scott, I'm sure you're just being paranoid," he said in the voice he used to talk to children aged five years or less. "Virgil's not sick. He's the one who looks after us when _we're_ sick."

"There was that time he refused to tell us he was sick until he collapsed, and that time it took us three days to figure out he had a cold, and that time he forgot to get checked over after that rescue because all of the rest of us were injured, and he ended up–"

"Going into cardiac arrest, yes, Scott, I remember that very clearly and don't appreciate the reminder. But he's not sick or injured, he's just tired. He's been pretty much running the island while we've been away, including all the cooking, cleaning, and coordinating the rescues from the island seeing as nothing big has come up, thank goodness, and Alan managing to bruise his wrist yesterday hasn't helped his stress levels. If anything he's exhausted and you're being a motherhen."

"Smotherhen," coughed Gordon, who had caught the tail end of the conversation. Scott whipped around with an irritated glare.

"Look Scott," said John, turning Scott's attention back to him. "He doesn't like it when you do this-this 'motherhenning' thing, in fact it usually has the opposite effect, so just calm down a little. I'll go and check on him and while you _stay here_." Scott gave a sharp nod, his face looked drawn, and John could tell that the rescue incident was fresh in his mind. He sighed but couldn't deny the fact that he was getting a little worried as well. Hopefully there was nothing truly wrong with Virgil or all the Tracy sons and their father wouldn't be able to hold Scott back.


	3. Chapter 3

And part 3. Still one more part to come, I decided to go for four parts as opposed to just three. Thank you so much for the reviews, they're really encouraging. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Oh, wow, guys, look what I bought! Jokes, I still don't own them.

* * *

Virgil grabbed the wall as the door opened, the swishing noise reminding him of his swirling head and neither making him feel at all well. The dizziness had struck again while he'd been making his way down the stairs and he stumbled into the room, heading for the cabinets on the far side.

I swear I've got something in here for burns, he thought to himself, and the cabinet was pulled open with a crash as he overestimated the strength needed. All of the bottles and tubes and bandages and medical supplies loomed in front of him, and yet none of the labels were clear. All of them had a sort of blurry tint to them, not enough to make him worry but bad enough to prevent him from finding the burn gel. He gave up, and poured himself a cup of water instead from the sink, deciding that he'd wait until his clear sight came back before he started undoing random tubes.

His fingers had stopped shaking as much, calming down after his mad rush to the cupboard, and he slid down the wall, cup of water held between both hands as if it were a warm Thermos on a cold day. He cautiously took a sip, curling into a miserable ball, and closed his eyes for a second…

The doors swished open behind him.

"Virge? You down here?" Footsteps sounded on the linoleum and Virgil twisted to see John striding purposefully towards him.

"Are you okay?"

Virgil smiled. His lips felt like they had been stretched and then frozen, a sort of numb stiff feeling.

"Yeah, just … can't find the burn stuff." He looked up at the cupboard still open above him tiredly. A hand reached over his head and grabbed a small tube of burn gel from the top shelf. John pulled Virgil to his feet and then pushed him to sit on one of the infirmary beds.

"Where are the others?"

John smirked slightly, unscrewing the tube. "Alan's having trouble eating his cake one-handed and Gordon's trying to make it as 'easy as possible'. He's got that look on his face that says he's out for revenge so I can only guess more happened yesterday than you told me. Anyway, you'd think after all the times Alan's managed to injure that arm he'd be able to feed himself adequately." He gently dabbed some of the gel onto Virgil's burnt fingers. Virgil stared at it.

"It's blue."

"I'm aware," replied John dryly, continuing to gently wipe some of the lotion over the worst of the burns.

"I don't like blue," said Virgil.

"I'm aware of that too," said John. Once he'd finished, he tidied up the equipment, putting it neatly away while Virgil hopped off the bed and tested his fingers. It would be a while before he'd be able to play the piano properly. He'd tried before with burnt fingers and the sounds he'd created had made him cringe…

"Virgil."

"Huh?"

"You're exhausted." The tone was somewhat surprised, as if the owner was only realising for the first time just how bad Virgil actually looked.

"What? No. No, I'm fine!" Virgil's voice didn't sound as strong or confident as he had meant it to be and there was skeptical silence from John in reply. "Okay, so I'm a little tired, but I'm not going t-to go to bed or sit and relax when you've all just gotten home! And it's your birthday to boot!"

"Virgil?"

"What?" Virgil froze where he had his hands waving in the air and slowly lowered them.

"Sit down." Virgil sat. "Now listen. I would rather spend a quiet day with _all_ of my healthy and well-rested brothers than have one of them burn out and end up missing the fun because he's in the infirmary." Virgil looked at his fingers.

"Got it," he said quietly.

"What I can't understand is why you're being so … so agreeable!" said John frustrated. "Normally you'd be up in arms if someone told you to rest, and snapping at the rest of us to leave you alone!"

"That's because it's usually Scott. I guess I'm just tired," suggested Virgil. "And it's your birthday, I can't really make any sort of fuss."

"No, kiddo, this goes beyond tiredness or it being my birthday." John sat next to Virgil on the bed and put his arm around him. "You've been alone for far too long." Virgil sat up straight, fierce in his defense, but John just pulled him closer. "Don't try to deny it, I know Gordon and dad haven't been here the whole time, and Scott, Ohana, Brains, Alan and I haven't either."

"I'm fine, Johnny," said Virgil. "I'm not some kid you have to baby. I'm just tired and that's it." John grinned and took back his arm as Virgil got to his feet. His face was flushed with annoyance.

"Now that's the Virgil I know," he chuckled and even Virgil had to smile a little in the midst of his irritation. "And in case I didn't make myself clear: fine or not, if I find you passed out in some corner or collapsing from doing too much work, not only will I make your life a living hell for the next week but I will also give Scott free reigns."

"You're evil, Johnny."

"Oh, I know it. I also know who put up all the streamers and balloons much too early this morning then stayed to wait up for Scott." He raised an eyebrow and Virgil blushed a little. Honestly, the streamers had been Gordon's idea, but what with Alan falling off of the ladder setting them up, he'd shied away from finishing the job. Virgil had taken up the challenge, made even harder by the fact that John had been asleep, but he'd managed to get it done. And the only other person until know who'd known just who'd set up the decorations had been Gordon by process of deduction.

"Virgil? John? You okay?" Both Tracy's felt slightly ashamed at hiding away in the infirmary, the memory of Alan attempting and failing to eat his slice of cake having to contributed significantly to John not dragging Virgil back up the stairs.

"We're here, dad," called Virgil, resigned.

"Well, good. Do you think yourself and the birthday boy could come back to the dining room now? Alan's managed to crush a piece of chocolate into Gordon's jacket and Ohana said something about bringing out more food for dessert."

"Has she brought out the meringue slice yet?" There was a pause and then the horror struck voice of the Tracy patriarch echoed lowly through the infirmary.

"There's more?" Both Tracy sons laughed and followed their father back up the stairs to face the mountains of food.

"Virgil?"

"Yeah?" Virgil hung back from going into the dining room and faced his father. Jeff Tracy put his hands on both of Virgil's shoulders.

"I'm sorry I haven't been around much lately, and what with Scott, John, Ohana and Alan being gone, I know a lot of the work has fallen to you, especially since Gordon's been with me most days." He squeezed Virgil's shoulders slightly. "I just wanted to let you know that I'm very proud of the way you've handled yourself the past few weeks."

If anything, Virgil was a little confused. Yes, he'd been alone most of the time and there were certain times it had bothered him a lot, but work-wise he really hadn't done anything special. He'd cooked a little, cleaned the 'Birds, done a bit of mundane housework and repair-work, and made sure that nothing had gone wrong. He'd coordinated a dozen or so rescues in various countries from the island computers, simply because they hadn't been bad enough for the Thunderbirds to fly out. He was very grateful that they hadn't been that big, though they had taken hours to coordinate, because although both Scott and John were ready to come home and fly out at a moment's notice, Virgil was doubtful as to the success of that endeavour. And there had been Alan's arm yesterday and setting up for John's birthday, oh, and Gordon had managed to bash his head open the first week the elder Tracy sons had been away, but other than that there hadn't been anything really out of the ordinary. And he wasn't sick.

"Thank you?"

Jeff chuckled and swung an arm over Virgil's shoulder and pulled him into a side-hug. He leaned close to whisper in his ear, "And your chocolate cake was delicious!"

They began walking back into the dining room together.

"Now, let's get some food in you before you pass out. You look far too thin and, frankly, your face is pale enough to worry me."

By the time Virgil and his father had made their way back into the kitchen, Gordon had managed to clean up the majority of the chocolate embedded in his jacket and Alan was apologising profusely, already in Gordon's black book for the incident yesterday.

"It seems we've got two out of sorts Tracy's today," said Jeff grinning.

"What are you talking about?" laughed Scott. "Alan's always clumsy!"

"Actually I was talking about Gordon. By now he'd have chased Alan off the island for getting chocolate cake on his jacket." Gordon looked up from where he was wiping off the last smudges.

"It's the arm," he said nonchalantly. "You just wait."

"You just don't think I can take you with a bruised arm," taunted Alan, somewhat unwisely, forgetting for a minute that Gordon could very well pin him without ever touching his arm.

Virgil grinned when Alan leapt away from Gordon and scooted behind his older brother.

"Virgil, save me," he cried, slipping and skidding on the wooden floor in his socks. Virgil just laughed, dodging when it looked like Alan was going to catapult into him, and moved to stand by Scott. Scott eyed his younger brunette brother speculatively and with more than a hint of suspicion.

Virgil felt his cheek grow hot and turned to see Scott staring at him.

"What?"

"Nothing," dismissed Scott casually, but his clenching jaw spoke otherwise. However, before Virgil could question him, Gordon suddenly stopped from where he was climbing on the dining room chairs.

"Virge's here, so now we can sing! And open presents!" He stood tall upon the chair and raised his hands like a conductor. "And a one, and a two, and a happy birthday to you!"

They sang and, shortly after, Scott went to get the presents from the lounge.

"Hey, Virge, John, come sit down next to me and we can watch these layabouts do some real work for once!" Virgil, unable to protest, was dragged into a chair beside Gordon, and John was manhandled into the chair on the prankster's other side. Both men watched the chaos as Scott delivered the presents to the table and Alan piled them into a teetering mound in front of the star-gazer. Gordon, meanwhile, started in on Scott's portion of the birthday cake, having already finished his own and sitting too far away to cut himself another piece.

"Can I start now?" asked John amused. Alan made a hasty grab for the wobbling tower.

"Yeah, you might want to," he answered, a little breathlessly.

Very soon the only noise was the crinkle of wrapping paper, exclamations of surprise, Scott and Alan's side comments interspersed with Jeff's, and the sound of crumbs hitting the floor from Gordon's fiendish munching.

"This is incredible, Virge!" John pulled out a painting about half as tall as he was but at least four times as wide. It was of the view from John's window on Tracy Island at sunrise, and brilliantly painted in water colours. Virgil smiled.

"Had to spend a few hours in your room to get it right. I had to move some stuff too so if you can't find anything just ask and I'll try to remember where I put it." He rubbed the back of his neck, a little embarrassed at the attention given to him not only from John but all the Tracy's.

"Wow, Virge," whispered Alan, stunned. "I didn't know you could paint like that."

"Yeah," added Gordon, eyebrows raised. "I mean, I knew you'd been getting up early and sitting in Johnny's room lately, but this is … wow."

"That's because he just about tries to kill us every time we go near his sketchbook and paintings," grinned Scott, who'd been on the receiving end of a snappish Virgil more than once. John just sat gobsmacked.

"You've been saying you miss Tracy Island when you're up in Five, so I thought you could stick this somewhere in there when you next go up."

"Thanks Virge," said John softly, and Virgil could see he was delighted with the gift.

"You're welcome," replied Virgil. "Happy birthday."

* * *

Dinner that evening was a far more subdued affair as no one was too hungry after the magnificent spread that was lunch. Gordon in particular couldn't possibly eat any more, having systematically made his way through the various Tracy's slices of cake while they fussed over the presents. It had taken Scott over an hour to make the connection between the borderline hyperactive Gordon and the mysteriously missing pieces of cake.

Virgil sat at the table yawning.

"Virgil, go to bed," said Jeff. Ten minutes and two dozen yawns later, John said the same thing, and after that Gordon and eventually Alan. Scott remained silent throughout, mysteriously wincing whenever he opened his mouth, but his glances across the table spoke volumes.

"Look," said John finally as Virgil appeared to nod off for a second, hastily pulling his head back up before it landed on his plate. "I meant what I said before. You've organised an amazing birthday and we have the next few weeks together as a family. I don't mind if you go to bed."

"But the dishes–"

"Ohana can do them or, if you're so attached to them, you can do them in the morning."

"She just got home, she can't be made to pick up my slack."

Ohana, hearing her name, came through to the dining room.

"Hon, don't worry about the dishes. You go and get a good night's sleep."

"Alright," relented Virgil, "but I'm doing them first thing in the morning. And John, I'm going to get those streamers down too."

"Sure, Virge, tomorrow. Now go get some sleep."

Virgil meandered his way up the stairs to the voices of half a dozen goodnight calls, and headed straight into John's room, grabbing the ladder on the way in. Two-hundred and thirteen multi-coloured streamers hung from the ceiling, various drawers, and the curtains. It looked as if someone had popped a massive party-popper right in the centre and it had vomited its innards all over his brother's bedroom. Virgil had to admit, it had looked a lot better in the dark. There were even some ripped pieces above John's bed, flakes having fallen into the folds of his blanket, from where he had apparently woken up and gotten the fright of his life. Virgil grinned and wished he'd hidden a camera somewhere.

He started to pull them down one by one, the rainbows ungluing from the wall easily and cleanly and the ladder moving without a sound. They'd been stuck up with some of Gordon's prank glue, having been left outside of Gordon's door for Virgil's use after the red-head had gone to bed. Very soon a pile started to form in the centre of the room and Virgil cursed after he tripped over it for the third time. He was far too tired to actually do anything about it beyond push it outside of John's door, and the multi-coloured mess sat placidly beside the entrance to the older blonde's room.

Virgil sat down heavily on the bed and started picking the bits of streamer out of the crevices. It would be so much easier if he'd been able to just shake the blanket out, but then who knew where all of the little pieces would end up?

He picked at them one by one, tossing them into a pile on the floor and getting into a rhythm. Pink one, orange one, blue one, green one, another green one, purple one, orange one...

* * *

A curse floated down the stairs and Scott looked up. John saw the movement and followed his eyes to the stairs. Another curse came and a bang as well. John raised his eyebrows.

"That doesn't sound like he's asleep."

"That's because he's not," Scott growled, standing up roughly. "He's in your room pulling down those streamers." John grabbed his arm and pulled him back down.

"Calm down, he's fine. Just give him a couple of minutes and then we can go and check on him, he'll be asleep by then." Scott slowly sunk back into his seat, giving everyone in the lounge a cursory glance and then refusing to remove his eyes from the stairs.

* * *

"I told you he was in your room." The voice drifted passed Virgil's ears. He could feel something rough under his hand and he clenched his fingers. The rough thing made a crinkling sound like wrapping paper and Virgil absently wondered if it was someone's birthday.

"He's just lucky he didn't break his neck pulling down those streamers. What was he thinking? He could've fallen off the ladder being that tired!" A weight settled somewhere to Virgil's left and the surface he was lying on tilted slightly. "Do you reckon we should take him back to his room?" Something rustled softly.

"Nah, leave him here. He's finally asleep and he'd freak out if he woke to you carrying him. Again."

"I guess you're right. God, he looks so young when he's asleep. Hard to think he's an adult."

"You'll never see him as an adult, Scott. He's always going to be that little boy you left on that bus."

An incoherent splutter.

"Why does everyone keep bringing that up? I was twelve for crying out loud!" There was a tug on one of his legs and suddenly both were lifted up until they were level with his head. They were set gently down on the same surface he was lying on.

Virgil shifted slightly, turning his head to the side from where it was pushed into a soft, squishy thing, and sighed. A hand touched his head gently, brushing his hair back from his face, and he must have made some noise because it disappeared shortly after. A snapping noise. Something heavy and warm laid over him. Tucked in on each side.

"He's going to burn himself out, John." Soft voice, hard tone. Weary.

"He's simply been alone for too long. We'll get him back to his normal Virge-the-surge attitude soon enough." And Virgil drifted off again.


	4. Chapter 4

Oh gosh, thank you to the guest reviewer for pointing out about Onaha, I didn't actually know I was writing her name like that! I think I've fixed them all...

This is the last part, folks! Enjoy.

Disclaimer: Ha ha ha, no.

* * *

Virgil bolted upright for the second time in two days, once again a blanket falling off of him. His head felt fuzzy, his body heavy, his eyes sticky, and his throat rough, but he was pleased to find that this time he was horizontal as opposed to crunched over the bench, and the lack of a crick in his neck agreed. He had meant to do something this morning, something he hadn't managed to do last night.

Dishes. Dishes and streamers. That was it.

Virgil clambered out of bed, staggering and still fully clothed, and headed out of the door. It hadn't escaped his notice that he'd fallen asleep in John's room, nor that the blanket had Scott's motherhen work written all over it. His cheeks pinked a little with his eldest brother finding him accidentally fast asleep, but in all honestly he'd missed the attention a little while Scott had been away. It was hard to be in charge, even if it was only being in charge of Gordon, sometimes his father, and the house.

Virgil strode into the kitchen and started on the dishes, those ones that were too big to fit in the dishwasher or else couldn't be put in. No one else was up, having probably stayed up late the night before celebrating in some way. He felt a little bad having had to go to bed early, but honestly he felt a lot better than he had last night, more rested. A lack of energy still lingered at the edges of his body, however, and he knew it was a warning.

The dishes were soon done and sitting glistening with water in a rack on the bench-top. He started into drying them, carefully handling the china plates and knowing that if he had another dizzy spell, there would be a lot worse than a simple hand-print in the cake and a couple of burnt fingers. These were grandma's dishes.

Scott came down the stairs, rubbing his wet hair with a towel and checking the dining room as he passed it. He spotted Virgil standing in front of the sink and came over, pushing himself to sit on the bench beside his brother.

"Last I saw you were fast asleep in John's room," he said, "but I come out of the shower and you're already up and dressed and doing dishes."

"Maybe you need shorter showers," said Virgil, too tired to inject any amusement or sarcasm into his voice. A thought struck him. "Did John sleep in my room?"

"Yeah, I checked on him before coming down here." The oldest Tracy son grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl beside him on the bench and peeled it open thoughtfully. "Thought I might find you in there, but it was only him passed out on your bed."

Virgil's arm hit the bench and the dish wavered in his hand, tea-towel flapping. Scott's hand shot out and he grabbed it before it dropped, carefully releasing it from Virgil's shaking grasp.

"Virgil," he said, but before he could get any further Gordon barreled into the room, Alan close on his tail. It was incredible how those two still managed to stick together like glue and pull pranks, despite the fact that they were both operatives of IR.

"Hey, Virge," called Alan, "we're going to start on putting away the dining room decorations before breakfast, wanna help?" Scott's eye twitched but a tea-towel shoved into his hands shut him up.

"You finish drying, I'm going to help." Virgil avoided his eldest brother's watchful eyes on his way into the other room, knowing that they followed him out suspiciously.

Virgil got started pulling down the balloons while Alan and Gordon began ripping down the streamers and rolling them up as best they could to put in a box for future use. The box was already mostly full and, despite the fact the streamers had fit nicely in at the start, their rolling being what it was they were having a hard time trying to stuff them in. Eventually John came down to join them, complete with his purple party hat which he seemed to have gained an attachment to. He pushed both Gordon and Alan out of the way and set about rolling up the streamers properly. Scott came to help Virgil with the balloons and the two of them got into a nice rhythm of pulling them down and batting them away into the lounge.

All five Tracy sons went on for about five minutes, chatting and laughing as they worked, before Virgil blinked suddenly, black starting to fade away his sight and his head starting to feel heavy and light at the same time. The dizziness hit, and Virgil staggered, reaching a hand to the wall to hold him up. He blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the darkness from his eyes and recover himself. His back thumped against the wall solidly and he put his hands on his knees, head drooping and trying desperately not to faint.

"Right. That's it."

Virgil wearily looked up at Scott in surprise. The other brunette Tracy was standing dead in front of him, arms folded across his chest and looking every bit the imposing Field Commander that he was. The others in the room had gone silent, concerned for Virgil and sensing the tension escalating.

"I have refrained from saying anything even though you are _clearly_ unwell because everyone else has asked me not to bother you and told me they'd handle it themselves. But even the others have asked you to rest and you still don't! So I don't care if I'm being a motherhen–"

"Smotherhen," coughed Gordon. John elbowed him in the ribs. "What? I can't help it, it's automatic," he hissed.

"–You obviously can't be relied on right now to make the best judgements so I'm staging an intervention. Sit down, Virgil." Virgil was almost shocked enough to do it. Almost.

"Don't. You. Dare."

"He's in trouble now," whispered Gordon to John, who nodded in agreement. Far from being obedient, if there was one thing Scott could have said that would stir Virgil back into his normal self, this was it.

"I have taken care of myself wonderfully while you lot have been away," Virgil hissed, slowly advancing towards Scott. The tremor in his legs was barely noticeable in his anger. "I've cooked and cleaned and bandaged up Alan's arm and fixed Gordon's head and stopped dad from drinking too much coffee while at the office and coordinated all those rescues for hours with just Alan and myself and kept the house running while everyone else was out gallivanting and having fun. I did the job perfectly and I don't need you coming in now to tell me I haven't been up to scratch. I have coped perfectly well on my own."

"You have done an amazing job," said Scott calmly, raising his hands, "and I don't think I could've done any better myself."

"Don't placate me," snapped Virgil. He jerked away from the outstretched hands which fell awkwardly to his brother's side.

"I'm not, I'm telling the truth. Sit down, Virgil, before you fall down." It was gentler this time, Scott finally realising that he would get nowhere by demanding after Virgil had spent over two weeks taking care of himself.

"I'm not Gordon, you don't need to give me The Eye–"

"Hey!" Gordon took a step forward, offended.

"Virgil Tracy, listen to your brother." Jeff stepped into the room and Virgil rapidly scooted over onto the box in the corner of the room, patting down the dangling streamers and sitting on top of the somewhat overflowing decorations box.

"Now," the Tracy patriarch said calmly in a matter-of-fact tone, putting a hand on Scott's shoulder and gently pushing him out of his direct line to the younger brunette Tracy. "You've been working extremely hard the past few days–"

"Weeks," interrupted Scott.

"–Weeks," Jeff corrected himself, "and you're exhausted. You're burning out and, if I'm not mistaken, you might be burning up a little too."

Scott took a step closer, reaching out a hand to touch Virgil's forehead. Virgil dodged out of the way, scowling at his eldest brother, but then met his father's eye and ducked his head. His fingers tugged his sleeves over his hands, covering the burns on his palms, and his eyes didn't move from the floor.

Scott's hand found his forehead and the eldest Tracy son frowned in agreement with his father's observation; Virgil was indeed running a light fever.

"You've cleaned all the 'Birds spotless–"

"You cooked almost all the meals."

"You put up all the streamers in my room." That statement garnered some surprise from the other Tracy's.

"You fixed up my arm."

"You fixed up my _head_." This got a whispered, "No one can truly fix your head, Fish," and a yelp as a pointy elbow hit muscle.

"You cooked the birthday lunch."

"You were up waiting for me and John to get home."

"You co-ordinated that rescue in Australia for eight hours straight after a day of organising those stranded refugees from the island computers." This got a small mew of protest from Virgil, who seemed determined to let everyone know that Alan had done half the work and everyone was making a big deal out of nothing, but Alan ignored him, thinking. "Actually, that all came in after the five endless days of rescues. And then I got home, and John got home and Scott got home and you managed to cook the lunch and set up the streamers, and wait up for everyone. Huh."

"You've barely eaten–"

"I'm pretty sure you've hardly slept–"

"In short," John summed up, "you're exhausted, you're getting sick, you're underfed, and right about now you'd kill for a bath and a warm bed."

Scott took a step forwards, arms open in front of him.

"We know you, Virge," he said earnestly. "We know what you like, what you don't like, and exactly how you feel about spending large amounts of time by yourself. Why do you think we're all so determined to take care of you?"

John, Gordon and Alan nodded in agreement while Jeff stood to the side smiling. He'd come into the room thinking he'd have to break up a fight between a well-meaning eldest and an over-tired middle son. Instead they seemed to not only get through to Virgil, but really _get through_ to him. Getting him to rest was inconsequential in the face of the love they were giving him now, and it would do more towards healing him in the long term than having an early night ever could.

Virgil sat stunned. He wasn't a child, he wasn't the youngest, and yet he couldn't find it in himself to explain to his brothers how he didn't need to be taken care of. It was actually sort of nice that they noticed things like this, how he may love spending time by himself at his pallet or piano, but absolutely hated being alone. Loneliness was far different to being alone. His mouth opened and shut again, nothing coming out.

"So," said Scott, "what do you want to do this evening, seeing as you've been working the hardest out of all of us, and assuming no calls come in."

"It's John's birthday, he should get to choose..." Virgil tried to pass up the choice but John stepped forwards, arms crossed and looking so much like Scott had before that Virgil trailed off.

"No," the older blonde patiently explained, "yesterday was my birthday. Today we do what you want, Virge."

Virgil felt nonplussed.

"Oh. Okay. Well, how about we watch a movie or something?" When the suggestion gathered more than one raised eyebrow, he felt the need to explain himself. "It's just that I'm a little tired–exhausted," Virgil rolled his eyes at Scott's skeptical look, "but we could do something else if…" A slap on the shoulder from Gordon of all people stopped him.

"Movie sounds great, Virge," agreed John. Alan nodded in the background.

"Yeah," he said, "there's that new _Transformers_ one out."

Scott still frowned a little, crouching down next to Virgil's seat on the cardboard box, and critically examining Virgil's pale face, tired eyes, and slightly flushed cheeks.

"I want to get some fever-reducer into you first," he said narrow-eyed.

"Sure," sighed Virgil, relenting to the ever-ferocious force that was Scott in motherhen mode. His hands hung limply between his legs and his head dropped a little. He was far too tired to refuse anything anyone suggested right then.

"Good man," said Jeff Tracy, finally able to get a word in edgeways with his sons planning movies.

"Yeah, Virge," said Gordon enthusiastically, "we'll just finish putting all this away and then we can watch whatever you want."

Virgil prepared himself to stand and continue putting the birthday decorations away. It was the decoration box he was sitting on after all, and he was the one who'd put them up in the first place. Scott's clamping hand came down on his shoulder, pinning him to his makeshift seat.

"Actually," suggested Scott fake-casually, "I'd prefer it if you sit this out on the couch in the lounge."

Gordon could see Virgil twitch and grinned to himself, but Virgil honestly didn't mind sitting this one out. His head had started to feel heavy again and he was scared if he stood up he'd collapse. That really would put a stop to all the packing, as well as their time together.

Scott helped him up, keeping an arm around his shoulders, and led him to the couch in the lounge. The couch blanket was tossed over him.

"Don't tuck me in," warned Virgil yawning.

"Wouldn't dream of it," winked Scott as he tucked the blanket firmly around his brother, well aware he had done just that last night and still under the impression that Virgil had been asleep for it. As far as Virgil was concerned, he mostly had been. Anyway, it was more for insurance that Virgil didn't make good on that darting glance to the kitchen he had going than to be cute.

"Can't I just–"

"No."

"But you've been out flying and John's been working at that conference–"

"You do realise I spent the majority of the two weeks shopping, right?" came the incredulous reply from the kitchen.

"And … and, damn it, Scott, don't make Onaha do this, she's just got back as well!"

"Virgil Tracy, don't keep using us working as an excuse to overwork yourself. We aren't nearly as tired and overworked as you are. And Onaha's not doing the cleaning; we are. We're not completely inept, you know." He gave Virgil one last look and went to join the others still packing in the other room. Gordon was making a lot of noise, and Virgil could hear Alan slipping and sliding in his socks. Why he insisted on wearing them on the wooden floors, no one knew, but it did manage to bump up his injury total.

A loud thump resounded from the other room and a resulting curse. Virgil got half way to the door, having to cling to the couches on his way over, when Scott yelled from the other room to 'stay where you are' and, 'it was only Gordon dropping a box.'

The second time Virgil just got fidgety, unwilling to sit by himself and relax while the others worked. He almost made it to standing, blanket falling around his feet, before Scott called.

"Virgil, damn it, stay on the couch!"

This continued, Virgil trying to escape and getting caught and reprimanded by Scott every time.

"Scott, quit twitching and just go sit with him," came the exasperated yell finally.

Within seconds Scott was pushing Virgil back onto the couch, tucking the blanket around him again, and curling up next to him. He tugged some of the blanket over himself. Virgil found himself tipping sideways to lean against his eldest brother's upper arm, and found that his limbs refused to let him move. No matter, he didn't want to anyway.

"I missed you, you know," Scott began conversationally, seeming well aware that Virgil didn't have the energy to uphold his end of the discussion. "It was great seeing the guys again but they're not you or John or Gordon or Alan. It got to about the end of the first week and the excitement died off and I just wanted to go home."

"Hmm," mumbled Virgil, closing his eyes. Now that he'd been forced to stop, actually stop and not simply sit down because his legs physically couldn't take much more, he felt slushi slipping into his limbs, making them hard to move and quite comfortable where they were. It's funny how exhaustion could make anything seem like a soft mattress.

Gordon came racing into the room, stopping short of the DVD holder, and pulled out several DVD's. He laid them down in Virgil's lap like an offering and started explaining everyone's choices.

"Alan wants the new _Transformers_, John wants _Star Trek: Into Darkness_ but I watched that last week, I want to see _Prometheus_, Dad says he doesn't mind so I picked for him and now it's two votes for _Prometheus_ but it's actually your decision, and Scott isn't allowed to choose after what happened last time. So pick one." It was almost funny how canine Gordon looked, crouched on the floor in front on Virgil and trying to make eye contact with huge brown puppy-dog eyes.

"I d'n't mind," murmured Virgil, his voice slurred both from exhaustion and because his face was turned into Scott's shoulder. When Gordon looked at Scott for a translation, Scott pointed at _Prometheus_.

"That one," he said and Gordon lit up and went to put it in the DVD player. "Might as well, you're not going to stay awake for it anyway," he muttered to Virgil, who was already most of the way into feeling Morpheus's seductive tendrils.

Within minutes the DVD was set up and starting to play. The Tracy sons and their father settled themselves down onto the two couches facing the TV as quietly as possible and Virgil smiled to himself. If there had been no DVD, no couches, and they had still been putting away decorations and laughing as they had before, he couldn't have been happier. He was no longer holding up the fort, no longer alone. And that was the way he liked it.

THE END


End file.
